


Strays

by berryfuls



Category: Other - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21747793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berryfuls/pseuds/berryfuls
Summary: (Summary removed)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 206





	Strays

Jeremy has a… bad habit of picking up strays.

He’s already got three cats in his apartment to prove it. Each of the snuggly, fluffy little fuckers really took one look at this short man with bright orange and purple hair and said, yep, this one will cave. Meowed at him from a dark, musty alleyway, maybe rubbed up against his legs until he bent down to pet them, and bam, a forever home.

Jeremy is only a little annoyed at how easily he was made into a pushover. In reality, the company is really nice. He moved out to Los Santos about six months ago for a change and still hasn’t exactly made the widest circle of friends. 

He’s thinking all this while standing in the cat aisle at the local pet store, holding a 40 pound bag of cat food, looking at the sad-looking kittens up for adoption in the back. He finally manages to remind himself that the last cat he brought home was  _ barely _ approved despite the two-pet limit, and grabs another wand toy before he goes up front to pay.

The cashier, a small teenage boy, grins at him. The two have interacted a few times and it’s not like Jeremy isn’t super recognizable with the hair. “Hi, Mr. Dooley!”

“Hey, Mason, how’s it going?”

“Great, sir! My friends and I used your tip to beat that Halo level on LASO, thank you so much!” the kid chatters while ringing up Jeremy’s items. “I think we would have been stuck there forever if you hadn’t helped!”

Jeremy smiles. Mason has always been super excited to talk about video games ever since he spotted Jeremy’s Spyro tattoo. They only interact for a few minutes every month, so he’s always quick to give updates on his latest gaming. “That’s great, dude! Where are you guys at now?”

“We’re going to try the last level this weekend!” He hands Jeremy his receipt. “Noah doesn’t think we can do it.”

“Just remember where the floor falls out, and try not to flip the Warthog.” Jeremy grabs his items as the two say goodbye. 

It’s gotten a little chilly outside this time of year, enough that Jeremy has to pull his jacket tighter as he walks back down the block to his car. A police cruiser comes screaming down the street, flashing lights blinding and sirens deafening him for a second before it turns down a side street.

“Jeez,” Jeremy says out loud as he tries to experience hearing again. He knows Los Santos isn’t the safest place on earth. Crime is rampant, the cops are corrupt, but somehow he still hasn’t gotten used to it.

He notices some dark splatters on the sidewalk as he walks. He shrugs it off - this part of town, it’s likely some old lady’s coffee that she spilled on the ground. 

And he doesn’t really realize, but the splatters get bigger and darker as he moves. Not until he spots a person sitting on the ground with their back against his car, anyway.

Jeremy groans. He’s so not in the mood for a fight, not while carrying 40 pounds of cat food and a feather glued to a plastic stick. “Alright, buddy, you gotta move,” he calls out.

The person is leaning forward with their hand against their abdomen. Their head is down and turned away. They jump a little at Jeremy’s voice, but don’t move to get up.  _ Great. _

He clicks the lock button on his key fob twice so the car chirps that the alarm has been set. The person finally starts to move, but stumbles and falls back down. Finally, Jeremy is close enough to see that they’re covered in blood.

“Hey, are you okay? Need me to call an ambulance?” He knows it’s stupid, reckless, a horrible fucking idea, but he sets down the cat stuff and rushes to the person’s side. They wave him off, but clearly aren’t doing well enough to do much else. “Here, let me call 911-”

“No,” the person grunts. “Don’t call-” they cut themselves off with a hiss of pain. “Leave.” The movement and effort of speaking are clearly taking a toll on them. Another cop car barrels down the road and they suffer to shrink smaller, and finally Jeremy gets it.

“Get in the car.”

The person’s piercing blue eyes flash up to scan over Jeremy’s face. When they don’t see what they’re searching for, they nod slightly. It seems to be survival instinct kicking in more than anything. Jeremy reaches out to help and ends up having to haul the person to their feet, and they do more falling than sitting when getting into the passenger seat.

Jeremy throws his purchases in the trunk and slides into the driver’s seat. The weight of this awful decision is starting to set in, but the person, a good-looking guy with long dark hair pulled into a ponytail, is fading from consciousness fast. He dials a number fast on his cell phone while pulling out onto the road.

…

“I’ve done just about everything I can do,” Steven says, stepping away from the couch. “But it’s a pretty nasty shot. Are you sure we can’t bring the guy to the hospital?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “Nah, he was pretty clear about that not being an option. Hopefully those two years of med school are enough to pull him through.” Steven rolls his eyes. The two are next door neighbors in this shitty apartment complex, and after one of the cats once ate their way into Steven’s apartment, the two became close-enough friends. Steven was on the track to becoming a world-renowned doctor before deciding his passions lie in selling marijuana instead. 

“Let me know if he gets worse. But I’m not helping you hide a body.” He gathers up his first aid kit. He had been able to determine that the bullet was no longer in the man’s body and hadn’t hit anything major. That it’s probably the loss of blood that’s the problem, and without going to the hospital, the only thing they can do is patch him up and wait it out.

“Thanks, Steven.” 

One of the cats, Booker, trots up and rubs against Steven’s legs. The friend rolls his eyes again. “You and your strays.” He leaves the apartment, and as the door clicks behind him, Jeremy is struck with how  _ quiet _ the room is.

Bringing the stranger here was a mistake. The guy is model-hot, definitely somebody’s husband, and there’s no  _ way _ no one wouldn’t notice him being missing. Jeremy takes a breath to remind himself that he couldn’t have just left him on the street, where he  _ definitely _ would have died. At least here it’s only probable that he’ll die.

Jeremy figures that there’s not much he can do now except wait out the night, so he grabs the Xbox controller off the coffee table and loads up something, anything, to pass the time.

…

A few hours have passed, and Jeremy finds himself in the Hitman challenge of his  _ life _ . He had read online about using an electrified puddle to kill his targets, and he’s finally gotten the whole thing set up after several failed attempts.

He switches on the power to the generator when he sees the target approaching and crouches behind a hedge to stay out of sight. Then he hears the cough on the couch beside him.

The stranger is starting to come to, scrunching his face against the harsh TV light. “Where the hell…”

“Hey, uh. Not sure if you remember, but-” Jeremy is cut off by the stranger nearly flipping off the couch to defend himself against the threat of a five-foot-four man with bright ass hair playing Xbox. “Hey, it’s okay! You’re safe. You’ve got a bad bullet hole, so you’ve gotta take it easy.”

The man winces as he slowly eases back to laying down, still distrustful. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jeremy, just a guy who makes really bad decisions to bring bleeding strangers into their house.” Another of the cats jumps onto the couch beside the stranger and starts intensely sniffing his jacket. “And that’s Scooter.” He gets up and crosses to the kitchen.

The stranger puts out a hand to let the cat sniff, who takes the opportunity to receive some ear and chin scritches. “I’m uh. Ryan.” He blinks, wary, when Jeremy tries to hand him a glass of orange juice.

“Isn’t this what you drink when you’ve lost blood? I give to the Red Cross every few months and that’s what they give me.” 

Ryan cracks a smile and takes the glass. “You and I live very different lives.” He takes a sip.

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression as well.” Jeremy sits back down and picks up the controller. His character was shot to death by guards in the couple minutes he wasn’t looking, so he exits the game. “Speaking of, is there anybody I can call to… let them know you’re okay?” 

Ryan snorts. “Very different lives.” He slides his phone out of his pocket and sends a quick text message. “There,” he says, waving the phone for proof. “People know I’m okay and they’re on their way to come get me. I should probably head down to meet them.” He pauses as he downs the rest of the orange juice. “Thanks, uh, for helping me out. I owe you one.”

Jeremy shakes his head. This is the  _ weirdest _ conversation he’s ever had. “I just didn’t really want to leave you on the street to die.”

“Yeah, that would have sucked.” He gets up, stretches, and starts heading for the door.

Jeremy worriedly gets up and follows. “Wait, are you sure you should be walking around? You were nearly dead like three hours ago.”

Ryan waves him off. “I’ll be fine.” He reaches into his pocket and digs out a pen and a crumpled piece of paper. He scribbles down a phone number and hands it over. “Call me if you’re ever in trouble. I’d love to return the favor.” Then the man  _ winks _ , of all fucking things, before letting himself out of the apartment and shutting the door behind him.

Jeremy watches from the window as a luxurious sports car pulls up out front. Ryan slides into the passenger seat, laughing, before the car speeds off. Jeremy turns around to Scooter, who is in prime loaf position on the couch. “What the fuck was tonight?”

The cat, used to their conversations, simply meows back.

...

Weeks go by, and Jeremy nearly convinces himself that the whole Ryan fiasco was just a really strange dream. He goes to work, he comes home, he feeds the cats, he plays video games for a few hours, he goes to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

He  _ nearly _ convinces himself.

It’s a Friday night in December, and after a hell week at work and then having to sit in traffic due to something with the police downtown, all Jeremy wants to do is veg out for a few hours. 

He called in a pizza to be delivered, he has a random TV show pulled up on the Xbox, he pulled his comforter off his bed and has created a nest on the couch that he’s sure will be his sleeping spot for the night. The cats, fed and worn out from a good hour of wand toy play time, are curled up nearby and purr at Jeremy when he pets their little heads.

It should be a wonderful night.

He’s just eyeing his liquor cabinet and wondering what wouldn’t be disgusting to drink with pizza when there’s a knock at the door.

“One sec,” he calls out, carefully peeling back the nest without disturbing the cats (he still gets a glare from Zipper). He opens the door while reaching for his wallet and digging for a few bills. “Eight-fifty, right?”

“Uh, hi.”

Jeremy looks up to a man who is very much  _ not _ the pizza guy. It’s Ryan, wearing an all black, military-ish style get-up. He has a rifle slung on his back, and at least three more pistols strapped to his body. 

Ryan gives a sheepish grin. “I was in the neighborhood,” he gives as if it’s an explanation for why he’s on Jeremy’s doorstep. “Kinda need to ask for a favor again.”

Then, naturally,  _ that’s _ when the pizza guy walks up. A scrawny kid with acne who takes one look at Ryan and is two seconds from fleeing the county. “Uh…. Jeremy Dooley?” he says, as if trying to figure out which of the two men he’s going to have to hand this pizza to.

Jeremy clears his throat and raises his hand. “Yeah, that’s me.” His voice comes out rough and no, he hasn’t gotten over the shock of seeing Ryan in what must be his office attire. (He also hasn’t fully figured out why he’s kinda turned on by it and oh God, Jeremy, what the  _ fuck. _ ) “Eight-fifty, right?”

“Here,” Ryan hands the guy at least five $20 bills, and the kid’s eyes are close to bulging out of his head. “Keep the change, have a great night.” The kid just nods, still shock-dumb, as Ryan takes the pizza box, and he wanders back out to his car.

“Well, you did pay for my pizza, I guess I owe you any favor now,” Jeremy says, only half sarcastic, as the two walk back inside the apartment.

Ryan laughs, and it’s a nice laugh.  _ What the fuck? _ “I just need a place to lay low for the night. We don’t exactly have any safehouses in this part of the city.” Ryan pauses for a second before raising an eyebrow. “Any favor, you say?”

“Let’s just start with the hiding from cops in my apartment favor,” Jeremy says. He turns away to grab plates and his face feels red hot. He’s spent a total of five minutes in this man’s waking presence and he’s already acting like some schoolgirl. What the fuck.

Ryan took that time to set down all the guns in the corner and survey the apartment. “I hope I’m not intruding on any plans.” He nods at the TV and the warm couch nest while accepting the plate. 

Jeremy shakes his head. “Nope. Just had a fantastic week of white suburban moms chewing me out because their Christmas presents aren’t going to get here on time, so I was going to veg out and try to stop experiencing life for a few hours.” He plates a couple slices of pizza before turning to the fridge. “Want anything to drink? I got beer, root beer, orange juice, diet Coke-” Ryan physically perks up at the mention of diet Coke, so Jeremy, laughing, grabs two cans. The two settle in on opposite ends of the couch with the comforter in between them and okay,  _ now _ it’s weird.

“A fellow fan of the Ghost Adventures, I see,” Ryan says before Jeremy can ask what they should watch. Easy enough. Jeremy hits play on the next episode. “Is it weird that I want to try ghost hunting?”

“Nah, I bet it’d be cool. You’d have to walk around in a lot of old, dirty buildings, though.”

And it’s weird how it feels like Jeremy’s known Ryan his whole life. The conversations and the episodes continue long into the night, long after the pizza and diet Coke are gone. Jeremy knows this guy has to be some sort of criminal and is probably super dangerous, but he’s also super dorky and has comments on all the tech they use on the show. They talk about video games and their rankings of fast food restaurants and how impossible it is to find decent barbecue in this town. 

It’s not until Booker crawls into Ryan’s lap, purring, and curls up that Jeremy thinks he may be truly fucked. 

...

At some point, Jeremy must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knows, it’s morning. He keeps his eyes closed, wishing for the light streaming in through the crappy blinds to turn off, still in that lovely post-sleep haze when what happened the night before is still just barely out of memory’s reach.

He’s lying on his side on the couch, with his comforter draped carefully over him. The room is quiet. The TV is turned off, and the cats aren’t bothering him.  _ Huh. _ This time of morning, they should be bugging him for breakfast already. He sits up a little more and he can see that the cans and plates from last night are put away, the cats’ food bowls are full, and the kitchen has been cleaned up. 

Most notably, Ryan is gone. 

Jeremy moves to get up, but stops when he spots another crumpled-up piece of paper on the coffee table. On it reads:

_ Thanks for the safekeeping. Guess I owe you two now. Hope you still have my number. _

_ P.S. You’re cute when you sleep.  _

Okay.  _ Maybe _ Jeremy has a crush on the really hot, really sweet, really funny fugitive that he harbored last night.

It’s not like Jeremy has ever had the most lawful of moralities. That’s probably why the whole criminal thing doesn’t bother him nearly as much as he thinks it should. But the guy is probably part of a crime gang, probably has killed more people than Jeremy has kissed, probably is just using him to avoid capture or death. The last one bothers him the most.

Still, how bad can you  _ really  _ get hurt when you play with fire? So Jeremy finds the other slip of paper, types the number into his phone, and saves the contact for whatever may come.

…

A week passes, and it’s Christmas Eve. Jeremy’s plans include, but aren’t limited to, adding an unreasonable amount of rum to a fresh bottle of eggnog, watching as much of a nameless Christmas movie as he can stomach, and watching the cats play with some gift boxes. He thinks back to another night, very similar to tonight, when his plans had been co-opted by a long-haired fugitive with a surprising breadth of knowledge when it came to ghosts.

But odds are Ryan has a family that he’s spending the holidays with, so Jeremy doubts anything similar will happen tonight. (He ignores the small part of him that sits in his chest and wishes for that not to be true.) 

He’s watching a beautiful woman fall in love with a man from her hometown while decorating a Christmas tree when there’s a knock on the door.

His heart jumps a little bit, and he has to swallow back down the rising hope.

“Hey, dude? Got a surprise for ya.” The voice on the other side is definitely not Ryan’s, and Jeremy tries to ignore the disappointment. Instead, it’s Steven, and a high-pitched squeak that he immediately recognizes.

He opens the door and yep, small enough to fit into the palm of Steven’s hand is a tiny, furiously squeaky, tortoiseshell kitten. 

Steven grins. “Found this little girl huddled under my car tire. She needs to be taken to a rescue, but-”

“But nothing’s open, so you brought her here,” Jeremy finishes. He takes the ferocious little scrap into his arms, and he can feel she’s cold. Probably hungry, too, which would explain the screaming.

“I figured she’s in best care here. After all, you did nurse a man with a gunshot wound back to life.” Jeremy winces, but Steven doesn’t notice. “Can you take her?”

“Maybe a couple days, at least until the shelter opens.” The kitten is small, but up close, in the shape of her head and body, she looks to be at least a couple months old. Probably will do fine with kibble, but he doesn’t have any for kittens on hand. She could have some of the adult food for now, but he’d have to run out tonight and get something better suited for a baby.

“Cool, thanks, man.” Steven shoots finger guns at Jeremy and walks back out of the apartment building. 

Jeremy gets the kitten situated in the bathroom with a water bowl, a small amount of food, a litter box, and the cats’ heating pad. She gets comfortable quickly, purring as she kneads at the soft fabric of the heating pad. Fuck. The landlady is going to be  _ pissed _ if he keeps this little girl.  _ Too late, I already love her. _

“Okay, little one. I gotta go for a bit. Please don’t burn the house down.” He slips out of the bathroom and makes sure she stays separate from the others. Better safe than sorry. He points to Zipper, the only cat he can find immediately, and says, “You’re in charge.” Then he grabs a coat, wallet, and keys, and heads out.

He did get through a fair bit of the eggnog, so probably shouldn’t drive. The pet store is only a couple blocks away, he remembers Mason saying they’d be open, and the night isn’t too chilly for a walk. So he stuffs his hands in his coat pockets and heads that direction. He makes a mental list of things he’d need for a new cat: vet visit, shots, spaying, introduction to the others, find out her favorite toys….

The process carries him to the pet store, and he remembers the last time he was here, when he found a bloody, hole-y Ryan just outside. Hopefully he only has to worry about a kitten tonight.

“Mr. Dooley!” Mason calls out with a smile when Jeremy enters. “Great timing, I was just about to close up!”

“I should only be a second. My neighbor found a kitten, so I’m just grabbing some food for her.”

“Take your time!”

Once in the cat food aisle, Jeremy finds himself a little overwhelmed with the options. They don’t have the food his cats ate when they were kittens, so he isn’t sure what a next-best option should be. He hears the bell over the door chime again, and Mason says hello to the next patron.  _ This isn’t difficult, Jeremy. Just get that one. Or that one. Or literally any of these. _ But the kitten probably has never had good food, and he wants to spoil her at least a little bit. 

He’s reaching out for a small bag of something decent when he hears a click up front, followed by a growled, “Open the register.”

“Sir, I can’t, only the owner can open it without a sale-” Mason, breathless from shock and fear, starts to ramble.

“I said open it!”

Mason lets out a small cry, and Jeremy can only imagine the terror on the kid’s face. He isn’t really sure what drives him to, but he pulls out his phone and texts a certain number his location with just “Robbery. Kid in danger” sent after it. 

He gets a text back within seconds that reads,  _ Two minutes. _

Maybe he assumes Ryan will just call the police. After all, Jeremy can’t do it, not with the robber on the other side of this shelf of cat food. And Jeremy doesn’t have anyone else he can just text who lives in the city. It makes sense in the moment, and it definitely doesn’t mean anything that Ryan was his first thought to contact.  _ It doesn’t mean a thing. _

But Jeremy doesn’t think Mason has two minutes. The altercation has escalated, and the robber is now screaming at the kid. He fires the gun, which, from Mason’s shocked cries, was an intentional miss. Next time may not be so generous.

And if Jeremy didn’t know what drove him to text Ryan, he has absolutely no idea why he steps out into view of the scene. “Hey, alright now, we don’t need all that,” he says, not fully believing that the words are coming out of  _ his _ mouth. The robber swings around at the sound of his voice, and now the gun is pointed fully at  _ Jeremy _ . But somehow, he still feels calm. “The kid said he can’t open it.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The robber, clearly experienced with stick-ups and, from the unwavering moments of the gun, likely murder, flicks the barrel’s aim between Jeremy and Mason. The kid jumps every time it points towards him. He’s pressing random buttons on the cash register, trying desperately to bide time or figure out how to open it. “Wayne!” the robber calls to the back.

Jeremy thinks he figures out who Wayne is when a barrel presses firmly against his temple, and a hand twists his arms behind his back. There’s no way more than a minute has passed by now. He needs to kill more time.

The robber has his sight back on Mason, who is still desperately pressing buttons on the machine. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know how-”

The robber fires another shot over Mason’s shoulder, shattering an empty fish tank. The kid is now openly crying in fear, and shattered glass crunches under his anxious feet. 

“Mason, just scan something and hit the pay with cash option,” Jeremy instructs, earning him a more painful arm twist and the gun pressing harder into his skull.

Wayne, from behind Jeremy, calls out to his buddy. “Zack, we’re running out of time.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wayne,” Zack retorts. And Jeremy starts to get the sense that this isn’t about the money anymore. Not with the violent look in Zack’s eyes. “Do it, you fucking pussy,” he demands to Mason. 

Mason makes eye contact with Jeremy, and it’s clear that the kid is terrified of doing the wrong thing. Jeremy nods with just the smallest tilt of his head.  _ It’s okay. The money isn’t worth more than your life. _ The kid grabs a dog toy and scans it with a soft beep. The bell above the door chimes, out of place in the scene.

Then Zack falls to the ground, a brick clattering to the floor beside him.

“Sup, fuckheads,” says a man, probably a little older than Jeremy, walking in the door. He’s sporting a brown leather jacket, and he cracks his knuckles in anticipation as he comes in. “Forget where the fuck you are?”

Jeremy can feel Wayne tense in fear, and he’s thrown to the floor as the other robber makes his escape out the back. Zack starts to scramble to his feet, but the man easily lifts him by his shirt collar to look him in the eye.

“Forget that this is Fake territory, huh?” 

Zack is genuinely shaking as the man gets a grasp on his throat, and Jeremy isn’t entirely sure which to be more afraid of. At least, not until another figure follows inside. The all-black military-ish style outfit with guns strapped in various places shouldn’t bring the amount of relief that it does. He’s wearing a skull mask, and the sight of him makes Zack struggle more.

“It was an accident, I’m sorry, Mogar-”

The man, Mogar, drops Zack unceremoniously. “Get out of the city, and if we see you in Los Santos again, you’re dead meat.” Zack nods, his eyes wide, and he scrambles out the back as fast as possible. 

“Sorry about that,” Mogar says to Jeremy as he helps him to his feet. “Who the fuck robs a pet store?” He turns to Mason, who is amazingly coming around the counter and beaming at the pair.

“Thank you, Fake AH! My parents said you were just a myth, but I knew you were real!”

Mogar laughs. “We’re trying to keep a low profile these days.” He holds up a white marker. “You know how in Skyrim, the Dark Brotherhood has marks to signal that a place is protected?” Mason nods eagerly, his eyes wide with the translation of a video game to the real world. Mogar opens the door and draws a small symbol at eye level above the doorknob. “Same concept. No one should mess around here anymore.”

Mason grins. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He turns to Jeremy. “Take that kitten food. The owner won’t mind a mistake in inventory after I tell her what happened.”

Jeremy shrugs and returns for the little bag of food. He’d almost forgotten why he was here. When he returns to the front, Mogar claps a hand on his back. “The kid’s good to lock up. You’re leaving here with us.” The man has a mischievous grin as he leads Jeremy outside, Ryan following, to a sports car parked out front. Ryan opens the passenger seat door and holds it open for Jeremy, who can see his wink behind the mask, sending his slowing heartbeat right back up, before climbing in back.

Mogar slides in the driver’s seat, revving the engine. “Yo, Ryan, that was awesome! Did you see the look on that guy’s face?” He throws his head back and laughs. “I’m Michael, by the way,” he says to Jeremy, as he pulls the car back onto the road.

“Jeremy,” he replies, not really sure what to do in this situation. Mogar? Michael? He’s really not even sure what the Fake AH is, or whatever Mason said.

“Oh, we know. You saved Ry-bread’s life, whether he admits it or not. Also, he won’t shut up about you,” Michael says with a smirk. Jeremy’s heart clenches a little.

Ryan, now de-masked in the back, doesn’t even try to deny it. “This doesn’t even count as one of your favors. We’ve been trying to find those assholes for weeks.”

“They robbed the McDonald’s we always go!” Michael says dramatically, as if it’s the greatest offense a man could commit. “Those fuckers got off easy.” He pulls the car to a stop outside Jeremy’s apartment.

“Thank you, though. I couldn’t see that kid get hurt,” Jeremy replies. “Now for a long night of taking care of a kitten.” As he’s climbing out of the car, he sees that Ryan is joining him, and he feels his pulse jump.

Michael waves and speeds off into the night.

“Sorry if this is a little forward, I just… I didn’t want to leave you alone after your first time experiencing something like that,” Ryan explains as the two make the short walk inside. He takes the weight of the bag of kitten food into his arms.

Jeremy looks down at his hands and they’re shaking with the adrenaline wearing off as he unlocks the door. “Maybe that’s a good idea.” There’s a cut from broken glass on his palm that he hadn't noticed until now, and Ryan hisses in empathetic pain at the sight.

“Let’s get that cleaned up and get that kitten fed.”

Jeremy leads the way to the small bathroom. The kitten is curled up asleep on the heating pad, and gives a soft  _ mrrp _ when Ryan kneels down to pet her head. 

Jeremy takes the time to pull out the first aid kit and wash his injured hand, and the water stings. He must make a sound of pain because in a second, Ryan is cradling that hand in both of his.

“You’re lucky, it doesn’t need stitches.” He doesn’t let go while he makes sure that the cut had been patted dry, given ointment, and covered with a bandage. Even then, he still holds on. “You did amazing tonight, you know. Those guys are no joke, and you weren’t scared at all.” He’s still looking at the bandages on Jeremy’s hand.

Jeremy tries to swallow some of the good-nervous energy that’s creeping up his throat when Ryan starts to stroke his thumb against Jeremy’s palm. “I had to make sure Mason was okay. It just came naturally, I guess.”

“I had to make sure  _ you _ were okay,” Ryan mutters, so soft Jeremy isn’t sure he heard it right. “I know it hasn’t exactly been a secret, but I’m sorry you had to find out about me this way. I’ve been trying to figure out how to delay the inevitable, but…”

“What are you talking about?”

Ryan finally drops his hand. “Now’s the part when you run away screaming? Call the cops on me because you found out I’m a professional criminal?” The kitten jumps onto the bathroom counter and paws at Ryan for more attention. Jeremy could laugh at the difference in Ryan’s words and the situation with the cat, but the man seems so  _ sad. _ Was this really so important to him that he was scared of losing it too?

“If it bothered me, I wouldn’t have taken you home that first day. And I probably wouldn’t have split an entire pizza with you.” He takes a step forward. “And I definitely wouldn’t have asked you to save my and Mason’s lives tonight.”

Ryan shrugs, still not meeting his eyes. “I guess we can just keep using each other when the other needs help. I don’t have to drag you into my world anymore than that.”

Jeremy can sense that Ryan is  _ terrified _ that he’ll hate him for his involvement with the crew. That he’ll see that the money that paid for that pizza was likely stolen from Maze Bank, that those guns have likely taken countless lives, that maybe Zack and Wayne were right to be afraid. Ryan spent so long trying to hide that part of him so this little back-and-forth could continue, but he knew one day it’d come crashing down.

After meeting Michael tonight, he gets the sense that this crew isn’t just business and that they truly do care about one another. They are actually interested in doing some good in this city. Stealing from the rich and protecting the poor. 

Jeremy’s questionable morals aside, none of it scares him. He can justify his certainty. And he’s absolutely sure of one thing.

With the buzzing bathroom light above them as a soundtrack, Jeremy slowly reaches a hand up to cup the back of Ryan’s neck. They finally lock eyes, and the fear and dread on Ryan’s face give way to a small, hopeful smile. Jeremy’s lips find Ryan’s in that cramped little makeshift cat quarantine, each pulling the other close into their arms. It feels like a culmination of the universe pulling strings to bring them both here and to set Jeremy on a new path. And when the kitten bites Jeremy’s arm and the needle-sharp baby teeth make him jump, and when Ryan laughs but doesn’t let go, somehow that feels right, too.

…

Jeremy wakes up one day in soft cotton sheets in a penthouse apartment he shares downtown. A fully-grown tortoiseshell cat is curled up against his side, and she opens one eye to glare at him when his movement disturbs her. He isn’t her favorite, not by a long shot.

Her real favorite enters the bedroom, still wearing his pajamas, and presses a kiss against Jeremy’s forehead. He sits on the edge of the bed. “Good morning. I made you breakfast to celebrate today.”

Jeremy smiles, still wrapped in that soft, sleepy haze as he gently pulls Ryan down for a real kiss. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe not to you. It is to the rest of us.” Ryan smiles and turns his focus to the cat, scratching under her chin. “Holly, do you think it’s a big deal?”

Holly lets out a  _ mrrrrp  _ before standing and stretching. Evidently, the bed has lost its appeal as a sleeping spot, and she trots out of the room.

“I think that’s a yes. I speak cat,” Ryan says, giving Jeremy’s hand a quick squeeze. He kisses his cheek before going to leave the room again. “Happy official one year with the crew, Rimmy Tim.” He winks, something he’s still doing even three years into their relationship, and yes, it still has the very same effect on Jeremy. He playfully dons a nearby cowboy hat before heading back to the kitchen. In his wake is the smell of fresh bacon.

This new life brought him love, amazing friends, a job he genuinely adores, and the happiness that had been absent from his life before. It was his official one year anniversary since Geoff asked him to join the Fake AH for real, following fifteen months of training, adjusting, and learning. (He would have started earlier, but Ryan insisted they try dating for real for a few months before introducing him to the crew.) Not once has he looked back.

Yeah. Jeremy has a bad habit of picking up strays. He just never thought one day  _ he’d  _ be the one adopted into his forever family.  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me at deremyjooley.tumblr.com


End file.
